


Ebenezer Good by Jen Riddler

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:25:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/794882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim gets slipped a Mickey while he and Blair are undercover in a club, and Guide must take care of Sentinel</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebenezer Good by Jen Riddler

All rights belong to Pet Fly. No infringement intended. MA- Mature Adults only. M/M. Sex scenes. Drug references (no shit). PWP. 

## Ebenezer Good

by Jen Riddler

Blair bounced around brightly in that over-caffinated way of his, eyes shining, unconsciously moving with the hyper pulse and strobes that were sending searing bolts of pain through Jim's nerve receptors. 

"Come play my game," the distorted voice taunted. 

"So, do you think The Prodigy lifted that sample from a Japanese kid's show, or what?" Blair asked as an aside. 

Jim didn't respond. 

"Are you even listening to me?" he had to ask. 

"If I could hear you over everything else, I still wouldn't have any idea what you were talking about." Thus spoke the voice of a generation gap. 

Blair poised on the brink of an impromptu introduction into dance culture, but thought better of it. Jim didn't want to be here, shouldn't be here. A baby boomer COP COP COP standing alone amongst a sea of satin and polyester young things throbbing in a collective movement, their enthusiasm a potent mix of youth and party chemicals. Hell, they weren't even Blair's generation. His youth movement had already had its martyrs enshrined in documentaries and print; it was history. Users Jim wasn't targeting, as much as he'd like to. Sellers, that's what he was after. Not that he was going to have any luck, his years in the military leaking from his pores like sweat. 

Blair shrugged off Jim's frustrations as usual. 

"You know, sometimes I can't tell if you're tuning me out to do a Sentinel thing, or just ignoring me," he countered good-naturedly. 

Jim's whole face cracked into a grin. 

"Good." 

Blair countered by zeroing in on a couple of girls who very possibly weren't legal in extremely tight fighting shiny bright orange blouses as they passed the table. 

Jim reached across, cupping Blair's chin in his hand, drawing his guide's attention back to the task at hand. 

"Follow your instincts and I'll book you," he promised, in that half joking tone Blair still felt better erring on the side of caution with. 

"Fine. You make the bust. I'll observe. You really used to do this in Vice? A lot?" 

Jim raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure what Blair was implying. He took another pull at his soda. And made a face. Damn stuff had gone flat, bitter. No, wait. He paused while he sorted through his taste-buds. Bitter. Chemical. Oh, shit, no. 

"Sandburg," he started. The lights were starting to move in patterns that made sense, his heart was speeding up to keep time with the fractured, running beat. The lights, shit, the music was making the lights change colour. He shut his eyes tight for a moment. Hold it together. You can do this. He repeated Blair's mantra. No good. He could still hear the colours with his eyes closed. 

"Jim?" 

He could feel the anxiety in the voice, in the pressure of the hand on his arm. 

"Get me out of here, Blair," he pleaded. 

"Sensory over load?" 

He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut. 

"Someone slipped me something." 

"Jim, tell me you're kidding. Okay," he could hear the smile in Blair's voice, and it annoyed him. "Guess I really get to be your guide then. Hold onto me. I'll look after you." 

He pulled Jim through the sweating, seething crowd that washed back and forth like a human sea, dragging and pushing Jim into the alley through a fire escape. 

Jim leant against the wall and threw up. That was the worst of it, Blair hoped. Jim coughed and spluttered while Blair looked away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He fished in his pocket for the keys. 

"Not this time, Big Guy." Blair snatched the keys away. "I finally get to drive." 

"One scratch and I'll use your hide as a doormat," Jim promised darkly, his threat muted by his slightly hyper swaying under the influence.  
  
  


Blair made a quick call to Simon on Jim's mobile while Jim hunched forward in the passenger seat, holding onto the dash for dear life; and they were still parked. 

"Yeah," Blair couldn't help sliding an amused glance at his companion. "Mickey Finned. He'll be fine. I'll take him home. He'll just have to ride it out. No, he doesn't need to go to the ER. Simon, I can't, he's not in control of his senses right now. No way, I don't value the project over his safety. Do you want him to end up on Hard Copy? I'll look after him. Trust me. I know what to do." He ignored the comments from both ends, terminating the call and starting the ignition. 

Blair coaxed, cajoled and carried Jim from car to bed, negotiating stairs, furniture, doors as they did so. Jim flopped down over the bed, relaxed and happy. Phase Two. It shouldn't have been enough to bring on more than an artificial glow in a normal person, but this was Jim, he reminded himself. Jim, for his part, wasn't in an alternate reality, but he felt like he was watching things happily as they went by, like riding on a bus, with the best suspension in the world, waving to the people as he went by. Hardly Yellow Submarine. The Nyquil had been trippier. He just felt, pleasantly weird, soft, happy. Blair smelt so good. He loved the way Blair smelt, loved the way he felt, loved his hair. Blair was back, his weight pressing down on the bed as he knelt next to Jim. Cold, something very cold near his face. A splash of a drop water upon his skin, like fire, spreading out, almost stinging, igniting every nerve, making them quiver, wonderful. 

"Open wide," Blair whispered. Fingers dug into ice in the glass he held, slipping it into his waiting mouth. 

"Suck," Blair instructed. He meant the ice cube. But Jim caught his finger tips as he placed another shard of ice between his lips with a soft, warm kiss. Blair snatched back his hand as though he'd touched a hot plate. Phase Three. 

"Okay," Blair voiced in a breath. "I think you'll be okay. Just suck on the ice cubes, or you'll deafen yourself grinding your teeth, okay? It's a side affect. Other than that, enjoy the ride." 

He felt Blair's warmth moved away, the mattress press down as he crawled off the big bed. Jim reached out and caught him, snatching wrist, moving quickly to enfold him in a tight hug, pulling him down on the bed with him. 

Blair found himself staring into soft, pale blue eyes. Strong warm arms encircled him, pressing him to Jim's warm, hard body, and he wanted this too much. He tried to pull, but Jim just smiled, holding on with a strength that surprised and scared him. He knew Jim was benign, but he couldn't pull himself free. Those arms had him locked in the best embrace he'd ever felt. 

Jim, don't do this, he pleaded silently, unable to find his voice. It's just the drugs. You'll hate yourself, you'll hate me. I want this so much, please, don't make me fight this, I don't think I can. 

All the while Jim's hands were in his hair, carding it, playing with it, stroking his scalp. Weak, Blair felt himself pulled down to press his lips to Jim's. He kept his mouth shut. Oh, his lips are so warm, so soft. He felt weak, dizzy, as though drugged himself, as all his blood rushed elsewhere, his groin pulsing, warm and flushed. 

"I love you," Jim murmured, pressing his lips to Blair's again. "I've always loved you. I owe you so much. You've brought so much into my life, I have to tell you..." Blair just stared at the lips forming these rapidly falling words, unable to believe, really believe. Jim kissed him again. There was tongue. Gently, the tip tracing his lips, then, so delicately, probing the line where Blair's lips met, teasing them open with a gentle lapping, peeking inside. With a soft moan, Blair surrendered to him, opening to the kiss, giving in, he wanted this too bad. Holding Jim, he returned the kiss. 

Lost in eyes and lips that promised so much, Blair felt himself being rolled over, until Jim lay on top. 

"Mmmm, love," Jim murmured, undressing Blair like a rag doll, breathing him, touching him, tasting him. He slid his cheek over dark chest hair, trailed a finger down the arrow that pointed...Blair undulated, stomach shivering. He kissed one burnt rose nub, testing the metal ring on the other between his teeth, making Blair gasp and arch up. Jim liked that, so he did it again, feeling Blair's erection rub against his thigh and hip. Blair pushed away Jim's clothes almost fretfully, anxious to run his hands and lips over the hard flesh. He was lost, there was no other direction to go. Jim held him still in strong protective arms that wouldn't let him go. He was here for the duration, until Jim released him. He wanted this, had dreamt of this. Forgive me, he begged in silent prayer as he gave in to those insistent kisses.  
  


* * *

  


Blair was almost hiding in the corner of his couch, not nestled, but a small, hunched, nervous, defensive position. He hadn't been able to read the print on the page since he'd heard Jim breathe and wake, the sheets rustling. He burned the image of the black type if not the meaning into his brain as he heard the bed creak, and Jim's soft footfall on the stairs. Jim ignored the couch and its occupant for the bathroom. Blair couldn't feel the book in his hands any more. He jumped, suddenly realizing Jim was there, leaning over him, standing over him. He'd lost minutes, not breathing, listening to the shower, forgetting Jim could stalk prey as well as any hunter. Better. 

"About last night," he tried. 

Jim made a face and sank to his knees, leaning against the edge of the couch. If Blair could have squished himself into a smaller huddle, he would have. Jim was frowning at him, unhappy. No, not him, the light, the late afternoon sun falling through the bay windows, across the floor towards them. 

"Oh, man," Jim groaned, bowing his head. 

"It was just the E, Jim. I couldn't do anything, you were so big and..." cuddly, he thought, happily and dismally at the same time, stopping suddenly with a big warm hand on his knee. 

He looked into those eyes. 

"I'm sorry, Jim. All your inhibitions were smashed last night..." 

"I wanted them smashed. I wish I could have smashed them months ago." 

Blair gaped at him. Jim leant forward and sealed those lips shut with a shyer, but more insistent kiss. Blair almost swooned up at him, lips wet, reddening, swelling slightly, opening, dark blue eyes dilating. 

"You wanted..." he breathed, a smile on those lips. 

"You," Jim answered simply. He twined his fingers with Blair's. "I meant every word. You are so special..." he looked up at Blair so sweetly. "Is there room up on that couch for me?" 

"Hey, it's your couch," Blair grinned, scrunching up, but Jim eased up and laid himself over Blair, easing the book away, grabbing handfuls of that wonderful hair, and kissing him again.  
  


* * *

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